The Ragnell Scrolls
by kilisdwarfprincess
Summary: Thorin lost his way twice. The first time he was met with a gaggle of children and a feisty old lady in Bucklebery, the second time he was met with Ragnell Bolger of Bywater. What follows is, as they say, history.
1. Prologue

**The Ragnell Scrolls**

**Summary:** Thorin lost his way twice. The first time he was met with a gaggle of children and a feisty old lady in Bucklebery, the second time he was met with Ragnell Bolger of Bywater. What follows is, as they say, history.

**Genre: **Drama/Romance.

**Rating:** T for language. Rating is subject to go up, probably at a later point.

**Pairing:** Thorin/OC.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything Tolkien related or recognised. I own only the original characters and story that does not take place in the Hobbit. No profit is made of this story but the entertainment of its readers.

**Author's Note:** Not much to say really but welcome my second Hobbit fanfiction. I have three more that shall be posted asap. My beta verbophobic is awesome. I hope you enjoy and remember to drop me a line.

The next installment is gonna be much longer but won't take too long to get up. I'm hoping to have Come What May and Forever in My Dreams posted in the coming days so keep a look out for them if you've been enjoying my Hobbit fics so far.

The title was inspired by "The Xena Scrolls".

**With all that out of the way, I give you the opening for The Ragnell Scrolls; enjoy and remember to leave a review or heck even a PM. I love hearing from everyone.**

* * *

**Prologue**

"We want a story!"

"I want to hear about dragons!"

"And magic!"

"I wanna hear about love!"

"Love is for wimps!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

The tiny man with the greying hair, warm azure eyes, a strong nose and a jaw covered in a light spray of grey stubble smiled fondly. He leaned heavily upon his walking stick as the children clambered round him, tugging on his robe or free hand; all wanting the story of their choice and nothing less. Normally he would regal them of the tale of the destruction of the ring of power but tonight, as he watched turned his eyes upon his own two grandchildren, Theon decided that tale would be best suited for another night.

They wanted a story; one filled with might, magic, great deeds, kings and common folk and battles won despite their odds. Love too.

With a sigh, he ushered them all into the sitting room where a strong fire burned bright within the hearth and basked the room in an amber glow. "I have a tale that will give you all what you ask for."

Following after them, he made his way over to the large chest resting in the corner. He slowly crouched at its front and unlatched it. Pushing the lid up, he looked over the contents before digging into the pile of books, scrolls and maps.

The children, who had begged, pleaded and clung to him to get their way all sat cross-legged before his large chair, chattering away excitedly that they were going to hear the story that _they_ had each asked for.

Their wide, bright eyes all shifted to the elder who rifled through the chest, unable to locate what he was after. When he came upon what he was after, he paused momentarily; once steady, strong hands now trembling as they hovered over the cluster of scrolls all neatly pressed into the bottom of the chest, the ends showed the wear of time; roughed and torn a little, each was held tight by a band of leather around its middle.

Glancing up and to the weapons that rested on the wall above the hearth, Theon nodded. The children all followed his gaze; a mighty sword resting crossed over an axe sat alongside two short swords crossed and a handful of daggers.

None, even the adult folk of the village, knew where the weapons had come from only that many years ago when Theon had been but young man a dwarf had visited, and after that night the weapons had sat where they did now.

Theon remembered that night all too well, this caused him to sigh heavily.

The memory brought back so much pain that it shoved him back into the present and he reached down, collected up the scrolls and closed the chest.

Pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his walking stick, he shuffled over to the children.

Stepping around their tiny bodies, the elder eased himself down into his favourite chair and set a number of the scrolls on the table at his side. The one he held in his hand had a small carving in the leather that bound it.

It was written in Khuzdul, the dwarven language; the symbol for _one_.

Glancing upon the scroll, knowing its contents and the people whose journey it documented weighed heavily upon his heart. The lives of his own ancestors; of people who had done deeds he'd only ever dreamed of and sought out in his youth. He'd only made one journey in his life and it had been from his parent's home into the one he occupied now. That was some eighty years ago now.

Yes, he would give them a story; the story of Ragnell Bolger.


	2. Chapter 1

**So here it is, the first chapter after the prologue. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. Oh and props to whoever can guess the original tale I altered for Ragnell to spin for the children.**

**Reviews are lovely and it's always nice to here what you all have to say.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

They were rambunctious younglings; never sitting in one place too long, always getting their sticky fingers into trouble and causing havoc for anyone they crossed paths with during the day. Most times they looked and smelled worse than their father's feet for baths were rare for them.

The Mugwort family were not well looked upon by most of the majority of the Shire community. Gossipers liked to spread rumours; the most notorious being that a number of the children weren't even Burls own.

Burl Mugwort, what could you say that was positive about him – naught much in truth; a portly, rude little man with grey hair and one blind eye whose crops were never well tended. He had more desire to sit and smoke his pipe or sleep. His wife Elsa was a stubborn, unwholesome woman who had eyes that burned like dragon fire and a tongue sharper than any blade found outside the Shire's peaceful borders.

Ragnell's heart won out in the end though for whenever her bright gaze caught the gaggle of miscreants she pitied them and gave them whatever she was able; helped them bathe, mended their clothes or, at their request, gave them a story.

It was one such occasion where our tale begins. As a Halfling, a Hobbit, Ragnell held no desire for adventures and trouble. As a youngling, barely to her pa's knees, she had loved hearing tales of the world outside the comfort of the Shire. Her father had been a brewer and farmer before his passing some fifteen years past; he sold a good portion of his wares in the human town Bree, a good week's journey to the east.

Whenever he returned, Frederick Bolger would have some grand tale he had learned of from the humans for his children. His wife, Nora, always chastised him for putting ideas of adventures and grandeur into the heads of their offspring.

It came as a relief when not Rafe, Todd or Jaks; the three eldest of the Bolger clan, showed no interested in venturing beyond the route their father took. Their fourth child and first and only daughter Ragnell was a different story entirely. As a youngling she had dressed in her brother's old clothes and was always climbing trees, running into the forests or using a wooden sword to act out her own little adventures.

Many whispered that a girl had no place rushing about rough-housing with the boys, that she should've been helping her dear mother.

Frederick ignored most of the talk his wife though, could not.

Despite her wild nature as a child, Ragnell was both caring and hard-working and in truth never thought about travelling beyond the borders of the Shire. She was happy to re-enact the stories she loved and knew so well. Anything asked of her would be done. She learned to sew, cook and clean from her mother while her father showed her how to catch rabbits, tend to the goats and care for the crops alongside her brothers.

When Frederick passed, Nora followed not long after from winter's chill.

The deaths of their parents changed the children; at fifty already Rafe was the eldest of the Bolger's left and for this he took over his father's travels to Bree; Todd tended to the crops while Jaks saw to the animals.

It was Ragnell though who grew more than her brothers. At the mere age of thirty, she matured. Gone was the youngling dressed as a boy and more and more she was seen in skirts. Never again did Ragnell act out her favourite stories; she cherished the memories of first hearing them instead and became the young woman any mother would be proud of.

Marriage proposals came and went; Ragnell never considered them or entertained the idea of leaving her family home or Bywater for Hobbiton.

So, fifteen years on from those harsh years and Ragnell found her world brightened by the Mugwort children who all so loved her father's old stories and she loved retelling them.

It was a warm sunny day; birds sung sweet music, the children all laughed and squealed as they frolicked in the shallows of the water that ran through Hobbiton and down east beyond Bywater into Frogmorton.

Sitting upon the bank, bare feet tucked beneath the ends of blue skirts and hair in a braid down her back, Ragnell watched with a warm smile as the children all mucked about. Coaxing them into the water had only been difficult the first time. Yes, she knew all too well that Halflings were atrocious swimmers and the children had all protested with that excuse until she had shown them the shallows and convinced them none would drown.

Rafe had returned from Bree the night before, Todd had gone into Hobbiton to help set up for the impending birthday of Annabelle Twofoot to be held tomorrow from luncheon. Jaks was looking after the animals and so Ragnell had taken a walk.

Not long into her stroll the Mugwort children had descended upon her from the trees brandishing wooden swords and rocks at her.

"Ye can't pass through until we get the password," one demanded, his mop of hair a pitch black tangle of curls.

Ragnell simply laughed at her small assailant and crouched down to his level. "And pray tell me, Tonto, what may be the password this fine morning?" she posed her question.

They closed ranks on her as Tonto stuck his little wooden sword into the ground and leaned over the hilt of it so he was able to whisper in her ear. "Story."

Ah yes, what more fitting of a password than the very thing in which they were after. Taking a quick check of the other children about her, Ragnell looked back at Tonto whose face was caked with mud and soot.

"I shall offer you a deal, young master," she began, straightening up, "I'll tell you a story if, and only if, you agree to bathe this morning."

She heard the whispers of protest; saw the disheartened look on Tonto's face at her parlay with him.

They'd relented. They always did. She would not tell her stories to dirty children.

One by one they came dashing out of the river, each grabbing a cloth to dry off with as Ragnell contemplated what tale to spin them today.

They knew each of her stories; almost word for word now but they always insisted she tell them again and again. Apparently she was the only one who did it any justice.

As they settled about her, Tonto crawling into her lap - his favourite place, Ragnell decided upon one of her favourite stories.

"Maidhion was a hunter born of the elf race in the Greenwood, pale skinned, eyes the colour of the clearest sky. He was renowned for his grace and beauty. He was exceptionally proud, in that he disdained those who loved him," she said into the silence, glancing at some of the children with a soft smile as they all settled in.

Tonto leaned his head back into her chest, sighing softly as his two small hands played with one of hers.

"Pride comes before a fall and Maidhion would learn this well. He shunned a woman who had fallen in love with him. Manwathiel approached him and tried to embrace him. He shunned her, breaking her heart. Manwathiel spent the rest of her life in lonely glens, fading. Almárëa, the spirit of revenge, saw this and attracted Maidhion to a pool where in he saw his own reflection in the water and fell in love with it, even though it was merely an image. Unable to leave the beauty of his reflection, Maidhion moved to try and pull his reflection from the water and fell in. The weeds snagged him and pulled him into the depths, drowning him."

Ragnell glanced at each of the children round her. "What do we take away from this story?"

She chuckled as they all whined in objection. Tonto glanced up at her, a pout on his round features and Ragnell pulled a face at him, reaching up to pinch his little cheeks. "Alright, story time is over pups, time to get dressed and head back home and no getting' dirty on the way."

* * *

For a Hobbit, good food was a necessity and in the Bolger home there was never a meal missed. Ragnell may have been the youngest of the Bolger clan but she was a mean one in the kitchen especially when it came to dinner and supper.

After getting the Mugwort children dressed and on their way home, Ragnell had returned home and begun to cook. Now spread out over the table among pitchers of milk and ale was ample servings of apple bread, cheddar soup, roasted green beans, stuffed pumpkins and pudding.

Jaks was the first to come through the door as Ragnell finished setting the table and made straight for the food.

"Clean up first," Ragnell told him, grabbing him by the ear and directing him to the washroom down the hall much to his protest.

Rafe and Todd had the decency to clean themselves up before they came to the table. Ragnell sat on Rafe's right hand side and it was just as they made to break the first loaf of apple bread when there were three loud knocks on the door.

Each Bolger glanced at the other. "I'll get it," Ragnell said, pushing away from the table and heading for the door.

Who could be knocking at such an hour?

* * *

Dain had proved less than agreeable to his plan much to frustration. Dwalin wouldn't be pleased with the news but Thorin had expected little else. Dain had never been much of a take charge type of king until it was within his favour not to get his hands bloodied.

For so long Thorin had been consumed by dreams of his home; Erebor and yearned to see it again, to claim it and be king under the mountain, bring Erebor back to its days of glory. Rumors had spread far; Smaug had not been seen in nearly sixty years.

When Gandalf had come to him with ambitions of seeing Erebor reclaimed, Thorin had been more than enthusiastic to the idea. He had wanted an army to march east but Faern had refused to give him even fifty guards and so he was left with but thirteen and two of those were his sister-sons.

He had refused Gloin's son, much to the dwarf's chagrin. Gimli was younger than Kili and not yet an adult. He would not risk him on this journey. Arla would've had his head on a pike if he'd agreed. She was unable to have anymore children and Thorin had promised the distraught young dwarrow that his day would come but not soon enough.

He had gotten put behind by dealing with him and than he'd been put behind by Dain's incessant drunken rambling. He'd barely been able to stand the man before but his refusal of aid had left Thorin wishing it were not an insult to leave in the middle of a feast.

His arrival in the Shire came as the sun set.

And that had been a good hour and a bit ago. Thorin hated to admit it to himself but, he was lost. All those little homes looked identical in the dark. Each round door was without the wizard so called mark. He had no idea if he was even in the right area of the place.

He had warned Fili and Kili not to be late to Master Baggins house and yet here he was well behind schedule. Mahal be damned.

As much as the idea pained him he knew he would have to stop and ask for directions.

He chose to turn into the first yard he came to upon his begrudging decision. The garden was poorly kept, a strange thing he'd noted among passing so many well kept ones. There was quite a loud commotion coming from the home also he noted.

Thorin steeled himself and knocked. He had not dealt with Hobbits before and so when the door opened and he was met with a short, round female with greying hair and a scowl upon her features and two children clutching at her skirts.

Her scowl it seemed was directed at him.

He smiled, or at least he attempted to. "Miss, I am sorry to interrupt your eve-"

"What ya want, dwarf?" she snapped in interruption and Thorin was a little taken back by her sudden demand. He bristled before noticing the tired look in her eyes. By the noise coming from further into the home, there were quite a number of children living here. Of the two young boys hanging off her, the one with dark curls darted off back into the room rather quickly after giving him a once over.

As Thorin made to ask for his direction to the home of a Mr. Baggins, he heard a sound akin to a small stampede coming through the hall and before he was able to move, a number of small children were suddenly at his feet, attempting to clamber up his legs and coat much to irritation.

These children were not his sister-sons wanting to be told a story they were a stranger's child and there were quite a large number of them. He pulled one from him only to have another take his place.

"Kids, knock it off!"

He was surprised by the outburst by the round woman and how fast the children were to scurry off and away from him. As they all disappeared back into the home and just as he made to pose his question to the woman the door was promptly slammed in his face.

He stood there and managed to draw in a deep breath and let it out before turning on his heel and striding down the small cobblestone path.

Gandalf had assured him Hobbits were quite wholesome and welcoming creatures; apparently they weren't.

Thorin decided he would move a little further into the village before asking another resident, hoping the further he progressed the more friendlier the people. He hoped.

He decided upon a Hobbit hole with a white fence protecting the garden and walkway. Vines wrapped around the fence and small blue flowers were sprouting from it in small clusters. Even in the light of the moon they were quite a pretty sight. The garden was well tended to. He pushed open the small gate and strode down the small cobblestone pathway.

There was light coming from the windows and he prayed to Mahal whoever occupied this home was friendlier than the previous residents.

He knocked and waited. Turning round he looked over the garden further and noticed the blue flowers were a recurring theme spread throughout the garden, popping up here and there and creating a sea of color even in the light of the moon.

He heard the door handle creak and turn and it being drawn open and turned.

Another female Halfling; skinnier than the previous, clearly she had not birthed any children. She was short, but her face was soft, dark brown curls pinned back loosely and sapphire eyes stared up at him.

However it was her smile that drew him. It was full of life and kindness; something like he'd never seen before in the women he'd dealt with and it was so polar to the previous female who'd come to a door.

"Evening, can I help you?"


End file.
